


In Mio Possesso

by afterandalasia



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Boot Worship, Community: disney_kink, Confinement, Dark, Defiance, Ficlet, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6493648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frollo believes that he has finally broken the gypsy 'king'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Mio Possesso

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/80504) by Anonymous. 



> From the [anon prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/361.html?thread=530025#t530025) at Disney Kink, inspired by another prompt and fill there.
> 
> Canon-typical racism and racist language from Frollo.

The gypsy sits in the shadows with his head bowed, his bright colours now tattered and wearing to brown. Long legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, the little puppet dangling limp between his fingers.  
  
"Come, come, little heretic."  
  
For a moment there is no response as Frollo walks closer, then the gypsy's head tilts. His brows form shadows over his eyes, a darkness in his gaze, but Frollo's thin smile does not waver.  
  
"Surely you do not wish to spend another day in such silence."  
  
The puppet cocks its little cloth head to regard Frollo sternly. Its mouth has mostly faded now, becoming a vague line, and blood stains its clothes. Sometimes it seems more responsive to the world than Clopin himself. But it hides the hand beneath it, the once fine and slender fingers now broken and all at wrong angles, blunted at the ends, the nails torn away from the beds. Clopin does not like the puppet to be removed.  
  
Frollo stops, standing in the light provided by the torches outside, regarding the figure beyond the arc of firelight. Strange, to think that this man had once held the attention of crowds, cradling hundreds in the palm of one artist's hand, and now he huddles at Frollo's feet instead.  
  
"Come, now."  
  
Silence. The puppet's eyes and Clopin's glitter in the dark.  
  
" _Come_ , gypsy."  
  
Finally there is the rattle of chains as Clopin shifts. He moves forward, his weight going down onto his hand, puppet ground down into the mud. At the end of his legs protruded stumps that might once have been feet; oh, how he had cried out when the coals pressed against his flesh and the skin melted away. They had seen the white gleam of bone before they were done; they had plucked out the bones from the skin, letting the gypsy scream and sob as they did so.  
  
Clopin drags himself forward a few paces, then stops, panting for breath. His hair hangs in strings and clumps around his face as he tilts his head upwards, as if considering, then spits at Frollo's feet. It comes out stained with dark brown.  
  
The response is a kick; Frollo's foot connects with Clopin's jaw and sends the gypsy stumbling sideways. Then a snort. "Now look what you have made me do. Mud upon these shoes." It looks as if Clopin is about to rise to his knees when Frollo drops down, hand pressing against the back of the gypsy's neck. He hisses: "Lick it clean."  
  
"Alas, alas, yet I--"  
  
Frollo increased the pressure, feeling the man's narrow spine through the back of his neck. Clopin's nose, now long broken, pressed against the leather of Frollo's boot as the judge's eyes flared. "Lick it clean," he repeated.  
  
There was a pause, then he felt the pressure of a tongue against the leather. A dark smile spread across Frollo's face.  
  
"There, that is better, no? And to think that you used to be the King of the Gypsies... well, no, perhaps this is a step up. Any part of the true world is better than your gypsy filth. King of dirt..." Finally he released the back of the gypsy's neck and stepped back, leaving Clopin to slowly get up onto his knees. His eyes made a silent promise of hatred.  
  
"More of your kind have been found. Today they will be bought to me for sentancing. And you will sit at my feet like the dog that you are, and they will know their place. With a leash around your neck. Do you understand, oh former King?"  
  
"Lasciate ogne speranza," replies Clopin at a whisper, "voi ch'intrate."  
  
If Frollo hears or understands, he does not indicate so, merely sneers and whirls out of the cell. Clopin crawls back into the shadows, where the fires of the churchman cannot reach him, and thinks not of the next day when he will be forced to sit at the feet of some imagined master like a captive pet. It amuses him, though, to think upon the circles that Frollo will one day surely see, far from the eyes of the church which he makes filthy with his steps.  
  
The King of the Gypsies will answer to but one, far distant crown. And it is not upon the judge's head.


End file.
